


before our eyes

by sleepy_santiago



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Camping, Doctor Who References, Episode: s05e10 Vincent and the Doctor, Established Relationship, Inspired by Doctor Who, M/M, Nature, Rain, Whichever Works, or even gen, or pre-slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:21:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22024744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepy_santiago/pseuds/sleepy_santiago
Summary: A quick one inspired by the scene in the Vincent and the Doctor episode of Doctor Who. This can be gen or pre-slash or established relationship, depending on your preference. I wrote it like five years ago lmao please don't judge
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Kudos: 12





	before our eyes

The heavy pitter-patter of rain reminded Derek of nights spent curled up in bed in his loft back in Beacon Hills, the occasional distant roar of a car speeding through a deep puddle or muffled bursts of raucous laughter as a group of teenagers ran for shelter from the downpour punctuating the nothingness pervading his senses. But here, tonight, there were no cars, no people, no noises at all but the rain beating down on the earth and the glass dome that shielded them, and the low, reassuring tenor of Stiles’s voice beside him. Tonight, the world consisted only of the trees, the starry night sky, and them. 

Between the steady hum of Stiles’s chatter and the rhythm of the rain, Derek had drifted comfortably into the limbo between sleep and consciousness where everything was beautiful and nothing hurt. Eyes half-lidded and unfocused, breaths deep and slow, Derek knew that he looked for all intents and purposes dead to the world. But as if Stiles sensed the low thrum that vibrated still under Derek’s skin, Stiles never fell silent and instead curled a warm, long-fingered hand around Derek’s, pointing up at the sky above with his other hand.

“Let me show you something, Derek,” he said softly. “See what I see."

Pupils adjusting into focus, eyelashes fluttering lightly, Derek looked. Shadowy outlines of trees against the velvet backdrop of a sky so dark a blue it was almost black; golden pinpricks of stars that blurred and came back into focus as raindrops splattered onto the glass dome and slid away in a hundred jagged, meandering routes that spiderwebbed the glass. He exhaled, chest compressing itself, the pressure a comforting weight on his lungs.

“So often,” Stiles breathed, “we look at nature and see something static; passive. A scene that should go on a postcard. A horizon deserving of a place on someone’s living room wall. A still-life photograph to end up in a city-dweller’s coffee table book. But look, Derek, the world around us is so fluid, constantly in motion, and its dance is something that could never compare to a stage performance because--” Stiles sucked in a breath and exhaled in a giddy whoosh.

“Look,” he started again, calmer. “Look at how the treetops brush against the sky, like they can touch the stars. Look at how the stars are not motionless, how they blaze and burn their way across the cosmos."

Derek looked, and Derek saw. Stiles’s fingers, like brushstrokes, brought the scene before him to life and dulled the sound of the rain to muted white noise in the background, and the stars glowed like golden fireflies. Derek followed their paths, the trails of brilliant fire they left in their wake, with his eyes as Stiles traced them out. The darkness of the inky sky lifted with the stars’ incandescent burning, uncovering a pure indigo hue that reminded Derek of blueberry jam staining pink lips in the summer.

“This dance is so incredible because it isn’t a performance. It doesn’t...clamour for our attention, and it doesn’t seek to please. It just exists, and that’s all. That’s enough.” Stiles turned his head, gaze warm and lazy as it landed on Derek. “It’s beautiful."

It was beautiful. Somehow, the motion and energy of the scintillating sky, the powerful—yet subtle—movement of the trees, drained him, sapped those last lingering remnants of restlessness right from his body. You’re beautiful, your existence is enough to awe me, he wanted to say. 

But Stiles had fallen silent at last, and Derek’s eyelids were like lead weights, even with the stars still lazily swimming in the sky above. Stiles gave his hand a light, reassuring squeeze right as his eyes slid shut, as if to say he’d heard him anyway.


End file.
